by Joseph Fink
The doctor’s calm demeanor did not transfer to the mob around her. They howled and jeered, saying things like “Remember that carnival. Let’s do that again!” and chanting popular slogans like “Uargghh OUTSIDERS!”
I, more than anyone, know that not all outsiders are bad. Most outsiders are. Uargghh outsiders. But some outsiders are great. The best. My favorite. And these outsiders know about that outsider.
“Listeners,” I said to the mob, because the moment I begin speaking my relationship to them was one in which they were hearing me, I said, “Please, let us proceed with caution and empathy. We’ve never tried it before. Maybe it’ll work.”
But the mob was beyond hearing and they continued their advance. For the first time I looked out at the faces of my fellow citizens and saw them not as friends and companions, but as a dangerous combination of suppression and indoctrination. And so I did the only thing I could think to do in that moment.
“If you won’t listen,” I said, “then I will make you listen. I will make you all listen. To the weather.”
WEATHER: “Catfish” by Waxahatchee
While the crowd was distracted by the sudden weather, I was able to flag down a passing Sheriff’s Secret Police helicopter, which was conducting routine surveillance operations just overhead. I explained to the officers inside, all of whom were wearing loose-fitting gowns and Richard Nixon masks, that I was in need of a lift to the radio station for important community reasons. They did not respond, but they also did not do anything else, so I hustled the representatives from the University of What It Is onto the craft and we left the hostile mob listening docilely below us.
“Please tell me everything,” was how I casually started the conversation with Dr. Kayyali.
She blinked.
“That would take a long time, and I feel like much of it would be things you already know,” she said, continuing: “For instance, tying shoes, operating your own tongue, feeling insecure, and other things. You would know these already.”
I clarified that I meant everything about Carlos and her university and this is what she said, as we hammered our way across the sky. She actually shouted it, to be heard over the rotors, so this is what she shouted.
She shouted that she is from the University of What It Is, and that they have been looking for some time for a faculty member named Carlos, who is a professor of science. He has been missing for decades and they were getting very worried. They had no choice but to hire a new professor of science, but it isn’t going well, because the guy they hired is a new-media artist interested in collage as it intersects with social media and he isn’t even sure what science is. They don’t know why they hired that guy. It had somehow made sense when they did it.
She told me, in a quieter voice, once we had landed near the safety of the station and had decided that the Sheriff’s Secret Police were not going to prevent us from leaving the helicopter, she told me that if this is how our town treats outsiders, then Carlos is in more danger than she thought.
I told her that Carlos wasn’t treated that way, that he was well-loved by everyone and especially loved by someone and she said, sure, sure, but she didn’t sound like she believed it, and then she said that there was much she needed to do but that they would make sure Carlos found his way to safety, and they were looking forward to him taking back over the one class they have on science because the new-media artist guy is really messing it up. She said she had to go, but gave me her card in case I ever wanted to get in touch with her. I imagine that I definitely will.
So there it is. So many questions. So many possible answers. And, like the title of that much beloved picture book classic: How many lies?
Listeners, I do not know everything about Carlos and he does not tell me everything. That is okay. We are not one person. How lonely that would be, a couple who has made themselves one so completely that they are once again alone. We are two people—separate, unique, and joined only where we choose to join.
I don’t know what is his affiliation truly to the University of What It Is. Perhaps I will never know. But I can know about the taste of food he has made me, or the feeling of his hand in mine, or the absence of his hand not in mine. I can feel the distance between us, and I can know that that distance, viewed properly, is no distance at all.
But still, I think I’ll keep Dr. Kayyali’s card handy. Just in case I ever need her or what she knows. And that time may come. Certainly so many other times I never even thought possible have come before it.
Stay tuned next for a loss of words, an absence of silence, some noise, some noise, and then, perhaps, and then, perhaps, meaning.
Good night, Night Vale. Good night.
PROVERB:Language will evolve, irregardless of your attempt to literally lock it away in a secluded tower. Obvs.
Episode 56:
“Homecoming”
OCTOBER 15, 2014
GUEST VOICE: WIL WHEATON (EARL HARLAN)
DO YOU REMEMBER EPISODE 15 “STREET CLEANING DAY”? AT THE END of that story, we get a quick glance at some of Night Vale’s citizens—their brief reactions to surviving the most horrifying day of the year.
There’s one particular couple in that episode to look for: Wilson and Amber. In the dawn following the atrocity of street cleaning, Wilson asks Amber, a woman he barely knows, to marry him. She declines marriage, suggesting they start with dinner first.
Well, I love those two. I wanted to check back in with them forty-one episodes (almost two years) later. And here they are, after Night Vale’s homecoming game is canceled, we hear the dejected crowd gathering together to tell stories.
It’s only one sentence, and I imagine most people miss it, but here it is: “Wilson Levy and Amber Akinyi whispered the story of their vacation to Luftnarp last spring.”
Look! They have last names! Also, a little over a year after Wilson’s faux pas, they took a European vacation together. They apparently did go on that date after Street Cleaning Day. Wilson seems to have learned to pace himself, and I think they’re falling in love.
That’s all I ever want for two completely made up people who have almost zero backstory or personality.
I try to drop hints about their lives every so often into Night Vale. It’s rare and usually brief. As of this writing, we’re 135 episodes into the show, so I can tell you to look for updates on Wilson and Amber in Episodes 57, 103, and 130.
—Jeffrey Cranor
It is autumn, and nature is vanishing. It is autumn, and nature is beautiful.
WELCOME TO NIGHT VALE
It’s that time of year again, listeners! This Friday night is Night Vale High School’s homecoming game! I’m not much of a sports fan, but this is the one game I truly care about. All of the Night Vale High alumni come together for it. Everyone: current students, former students, students long dead, future students who aren’t born yet. It’s the one night we can see our loved ones who have been lost to time and mortality. The dead alumni come out at halftime and we all get to visit with them while the marching bands go spearhunting for dinner.
I can’t wait to see my late mother again this Friday night, especially after I found those old cassette tapes last fall. I have so many questions. Important questions. And with Carlos out of town, I’ve gotten kind of isolated, a little hermit-like lately. I need to get out. This year’s Homecoming means more to me than ever.
Plus, we’re playing the Red Mesa High School Ant Carpenters, who were dreadful last year. So, should be a fun night and a big win for our team.
. . . team? It’s a football TEAM, right? A baseball club, a soccer unkindness, a hockey murder, a football team. Yes. That’s it. Team.
And now a public service announcement from the Night Vale Seismological Society, who have released their schedule of upcoming municipally-planned earthquakes.
On Sunday, from 8:00 A.M. to 8:30 A.M. there will be a small series of minor tremors. It’s likely you’ll feel nothing, the seismologists say, as these quakes are just to te
st some new equipment.
At 3:00 P.M. on Tuesday, there will be an enormous earthquake, rating upwards of seven to eight on the Richter Scale, so wear long sleeves, or goggles, or gloves. Whatever it is you do to be safe during an earthquake. We’re not entirely sure, the Night Vale Seismological Society said.
The following Saturday, be ready for anything. They’re not sure what’s going to happen. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. Buuuuuuut, hopefully something really, really cool. They don’t want to get your hopes up. So just be on the lookout, but no promises.
Oh man, fingers crossed, this could be super amazing, the Night Vale Seismological Society said.
This just in. There’s news breaking of a possible scandal involving one of the Night Vale football players: senior running back Malik Herrera. According to an investigative report by Leann Hart of the Night Vale Daily Journal, Herrera doesn’t actually exist. Like he’s right there when you look at him, and he plays in a team of other players, so it would make more sense for him to be there than not, but Hart claims in her report that the all-district running back is, in fact, completely fabricated.
Anonymous sources say that Herrera is collectively imagined by the Night Vale High School fan base—a shared dream in the form of a boy who won the district rushing title the past two years and was freshman of the year three seasons ago. Red Mesa is threatening to cancel this Friday’s game if Night Vale does not bench Herrera, citing district league rule 12, article 6 that states “All players must be real people. Don’t not be a person, okay?” The rule continues: “Because if you’re not really real. . . . Man, I’m mad just thinking about it.”
Night Vale High School head coach Nazr al-Mujaheed said they will not bench any player until a full investigation is performed, which can’t happen until Tuesday, maybe. Monday at the earliest. Coach al-Mujaheed then concluded his statement by removing his goat-horned headpiece and comically large sunglasses, revealing tattoos of cat eyes on his eye lids.
“Cool!” the gathered reporters shouted.
Night Vale, if there’s no game, there’s no homecoming. If there’s no homecoming, we will miss the one chance we have this year to see our lost loved ones. I will miss the chance to talk to my mother, to see many of my friends. To get out for once and not feel so lonely. We will not have our biggest night of the year to come together as a community. I hope this scandal is not true, and, if it is, that it doesn’t, you know, ruin anything.
Well, there is at least one old friend I’ll get to see. Listeners, I’m so excited for this next segment. My old friend Earl Harlan is in studio today! Earl is the new sous chef at Night Vale’s hottest restaurant, Tourniquet, and he’s here to teach us a simple and delicious dessert recipe.
Welcome Earl!
EARL:It’s good to see you again, Cecil. It’s been a long time.
CECIL:Many of you listening may not know this, but Earl and I grew up together. We fell out of touch for a while, and then he was taken to another world during a Boy Scout ceremony, but I recently saw his name in the news releases about Tourniquet.
EARL:We were very close friends.
CECIL:We were, Earl. What happened after high school? I completely lost track of you.
EARL:Well, I turned nineteen, and I was nineteen for a long time. I don’t even know how long. I was nineteen for longer than I care to admit. And then one day I was suddenly a grown-up. I had a kid and a house and a job.
CECIL:Some of us mature early. Some of us mature late. Sounds like you had plenty of youth left to live after high school and you just came to adulthood later.
EARL:Cecil, I meant that literally. I was literally nineteen for . . . I think it was decades, maybe a century or more. I don’t know how long. Cecil, we graduated the same year, right?
CECIL:Of course we did. I remember our graduation party. We drank an entire case of warm orangemilk and told dirty jokes about the moon until we were frightened off by the sunrise.
EARL:What year was that? Cecil, what year did we graduate?
[a very very long pause]
EARL:You don’t remember, do you Cecil?
CECIL:[interrupting] Tell us about your recipe, Earl!
EARL:Okay. Sure thing. Tiramisu is a popular dessert at many restaurants, especially at Tourniquet, but few people make it at home. Once they hear how easy it is, and how delicious Chef Mason’s recipe is, they’ll want to make it all the time. They’ll want to never stop making tiramisu.
CECIL:Sounds good.
EARL:[continuing over Cecil’s last line] Never stop making it. They’ll lose their minds making it, Cecil.
CECIL:So what all do you have here. What will listeners need?
EARL:Everyone should have most of these ingredients already at home: a carafe of pre-made coffee, six eggs (go ahead and separate them into whites and yolks, but make sure to remove organs, teeth, and other debris), salt, two tablespoons of cocoa, one-third cup of sugar, two cups of mascarpone (which is a kind of fish), a package of gluten free ladyfinger cookies, two ounces of dark rum, and Chef Mason’s special culinary touch: one and one-half cups of ground nutmeg.
CECIL:Oooh, I love nutmeg. It’s been deveined, right?
EARL:Yes, you can buy deveined nutmeg at most supermarkets, but in case you’re grinding it fresh at home, make sure to remove the thick vein running up the nutmeg’s spine after you kill and clean the animal.
To start, just whisk the egg yolks and one-fourth cup of the sugar in one bowl and then work in the mascarpone. Then, in a separate bowl, you’ll want to mix the egg whites, a pinch of salt, and the remaining sugar until firm. Like this.
[There is the sound of heavy machinery and crunching, maybe the birds of prey noises too?]
CECIL:That looks easy!
EARL:Mix that into the first bowl and add the coffee and the rum. Then dip the cookies into the mixture, lay them into a baking dish, cover with your ground nutmeg, and . . .
CECIL:Oh dear, Earl. I feel so silly saying this, but there’s no oven here. I brought a professional chef to do a recipe on my show, and I don’t even have a working kitchen.
EARL:Relax, Cecil. We wouldn’t have time to completely cook a tiramisu on the air. It takes hours of slow baking in an earth oven. I already brought a finished tiramisu.
CECIL:Earl, how sweet of you. This looks delicious. I can’t wait to share it with the staff.
EARL:Be careful. It is quite poisonous.
CECIL:Of course. Thanks for coming on the show. And congratulations on the huge success of Tourniquet. I hope to get a reservation there soon. Will you come on our show again with more tasty recipes? Maybe we can make this a regular cooking feature?
EARL:I’d love to, Cecil. I think we really have something here.
CECIL:Me, too.
And now a word from our sponsor.
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Staples. Worship Old Gods.
Terrible news, list
eners. Just terrible news. Red Mesa High School has called off Friday night’s game. There will be no homecoming. The campers and RVs that had started to fill up the Night Vale stadium parking lot have begun to file out.
Malik Herrera, the running back accused of a false existence, apologized for not being more transparent and for letting down his school and community. The Night Vale School Board forced the team’s hand by suspending Herrera for his corporeal unreality, but it was too late. The game had already been forfeited. Our homecoming is no more.
I had so much I wanted to say to my mother. I imagine all of you had so much you wanted to say to your lost loved ones, to say to each other. I imagine all that could have been and all that is now lost. Our biggest community event of the year is gone, perhaps, because we imagined too much.
And to make things worse, a dangerous storm front is moving right now into Night Vale. You should seek shelter immediately from the eminent rain. And as a duty of public safety, I must take you now to the weather.
WEATHER: “Understood” by Y.R Generation
It’s been five days, Night Vale, since that weather report began. It was a historically massive storm, and we needed the ongoing weather coverage. I hope you are all okay. I’m looking at some of you right now and you seem just fine. So, that’s good news.
Sadly, the homecoming game remained canceled. League officials conducted an investigation into Malik Herrera’s reality and determined he was indeed not real. They said he was tangible. They could feel a body when they touched him. They could hear a voice when they spoke with him. They could see a boy when they looked at him.
But Red Mesa coaching staff presented, as evidence, a photograph of the many galaxies of our universe and, after viewing this, league officials determined that Herrera was too immeasurably small to be considered real. Coach al-Mujaheed argued that it is unfair to discriminate against someone based on their reality. Just because someone does not exist does not mean they do not deserve equal rights, equal pursuit of happiness.
